


Going through the Motions

by MsCaptainWinchester (rons_pigwidgeon)



Series: Don't Give Your Heart Away [3]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Demon Peter Parker, M/M, Peter Parker Has a Crush, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 08:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19787596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rons_pigwidgeon/pseuds/MsCaptainWinchester
Summary: Wade goes back to mercenary work with an empty chest and a drive to do the work, but he quickly finds out just how much it sucks to go through the world without a heart.





	Going through the Motions

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written to fill 'The Collector' square on my Bad Things Happen Bingo card.
> 
> This is the third part of a series. If you did not read the other two because they were gen, I suggest you go back now, because you're _going_ to be confused. If you're eyeing the pre-slash in annoyance, never fear. Peter will sit on that dick eventually, I promise.
> 
> I do not consent to my stories being listed on Goodreads or other book platforms.

At first, he didn’t notice. He went back to work, business as usual. Without Ellie to worry about, he had no problem taking larger, longer jobs. He spent months staking targets. He looked for big hits with even bigger pay-outs and paid no attention to what kind of heat the end result might put on his head, or the heads of his loved ones. Because there were no loved ones, just as Ellie had asked. There was nothing at all. Nothing, but the work.

And work is exactly what being a mercenary became to him. 

There was no finesse to the kill. No flourish. No adrenaline pumping through his veins as he took on twenty ninjas at once or successfully slit a cartel boss’ throat after stalking him for weeks to find an opening. When he painted the walls in blood, he felt no joy in the sight of his handiwork. Just cold efficiency and an unrelenting drive to push forward like a self-driving car, but with fewer accidents. 

In a tiny village deep in the jungles east of Bangui, Wade chopped the head off the final warlord underling and dropped his katana with a clatter of metal that sounded hollow to his ears. He should have been elated. He had gone into a camp full of the best premium-grade American weaponry money could buy—and Wade would know. He got the catalogs—with nothing but Bea, Arthur, and three tiny knives, and had taken out the entire village. He should have at least been furious with himself for the boys he’d killed on the way to their leader/enslaver. But without a heart, he was also without a moral compass. They had been in the way, and Wade hadn’t hesitated.

But he knew that he should have. He remembered the ghost of the feeling from before, like the phantom limb sensations he got while waiting for one of his appendages to grow back, only worse. There was a giant chasm of blank, dull nothing where his heart should be, and he was starting to think that wasn’t a good thing.

He fished out the card the demon had given him, and under the glossy white letters that read _Peter Parker, Broker of Hearts_ , he found a phone number of all things (Did Hell have a deal with T-Mobile? He probably shouldn’t have been surprised.). Frowning down at the number, he found his phone and dialed. There wasn’t even a ring tone.

“Well, this is an definitely an improvement. Shitfaced and sitting in your own piss isn't a good look for you, but all that leather? Leather, I can get behind. Do you have to pad those shoulders or is that all you?” a vaguely familiar voice asked from behind him. Wade turned around to find the figment of his imagination lounging against a table riddled with bullet holes, his long legs stretched out in front of him, encased in tight, ripped, black skinny jeans, ending in red Converse sneakers. He had his head cocked to the side as he looked Wade over, completely unbothered by the mess of bodies surrounding him. 

“You took my heart. I want it back,” Wade said, pointing a katana at Peter as he descended on him.

Peter didn’t even move back when the blade entered his personal space, just straightened up minutely so that he didn’t have to strain his neck quite as much to meet the eyes of Wade’s mask. “Correction: you asked to get rid of your heart, and I was benevolent enough to oblige.”

Wade pressed the blade to his throat. “Are you going to give it back to me, or do I have to take it?”

Peter huffed a breath and rolled his eyes heaven-ward. “I thought this might happen. Everyone’s always on board with giving their heart away until they live with what that really means, and then it’s all ‘Oh no, Mr. Parker, I didn’t want to give it away, not really. I need my heart, Mr. Parker,’” he said in a false falsetto. He turned his gaze back on Wade with an annoyed look. “ I can’t give it back. I don’t have it anymore.”

“What do you mean, you don’t have it anymore? Where is it?” Wade pressed the blade harder into the skin. A thin line of blood bloomed up from the blade. Peter didn’t flinch. 

“Hearts are in high demand. It was broken into pieces and sold or sent to where it was needed. If you really want it back, you’ll have to go find the pieces yourself and then figure out how to get them back from whatever or whomever has them.” He shrugged, looking bored of the conversation already. He casually reached up and poked at Wade’s shoulder with one finger, eyes going wide when it met with solid muscle. 

Wade’s mind started firing a mile a minute, trying to comprehend the garbage fire he was being presented with. Nothing could be simple, could it? “So, you’re saying if I want to feel anything again, I have to go on a scavenger hunt for my own heart?”

“Essentially.” Clearly finished with this conversation, Peter cupped his hand over Wade’s bicep and squeezed. “For real, how much do you bench press? I bet you could lift me over your head. Fuck, that's hot.” 

Wade cut him off with a sword through the heart. If the little shit wasn’t going to give him what he wanted, then he would just take _his_ heart instead.

Except Peter didn’t react, except to glance down at the blade with a little frown, and then look back up at Wade. “You know I’m immortal, right?”

Wade pulled the sword back out and sheathed it with a clench of his jaw, frustration flashing for the briefest of seconds before melting back into the empty void that used to be his heart. “Same,” he muttered before turning around and stalking off. If this asshole wasn’t going to help him, then he would figure it out for himself.

Except. He paused at the edge of the village and turned back to find Peter still leaning against the ruined table, eyes clearly following Wade’s ass. “How do I find the pieces?” he asked. 

Peter stood with the grace of a swan and appeared in front of him a blink later. He pressed his hand flat over Wade’s breastbone and warmth tingled across Wade’s chest. “You’ll know,” he said, looking directly into Wade’s eyes despite the mask. And then he blinked out of existence once more, and Wade was alone in the fallen village in the middle of the jungle once more.

Wade rubbed the spot where Peter’s hand had been and a thin thread tugged at the place where his heart should have been, pulling him north and to the west. Across the ocean. To New York City.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want writing updates from me, you can follow me on Twitter [@RonsPigwidgeon](https://twitter.com/RonsPigwidgeon), [Tumblr](https://mscaptainwinchester.tumblr.com/), [NewTumbl](https://mscaptainwinchester.newtumbl.com/), or [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/MsCaptainWinchester).
> 
> And if you'd like to come yell about Spideypool with me, join the 18+ Discord server I co-mod, [Isn't It Bromantic](https://discord.gg/cfZEbNv)!


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